


Hold on Me

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-War, discovery of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 16:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19066684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: One afternoon in Grimmauld Place, Hermione tries to suss out her feelings for Harry.





	Hold on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Harmony & Co.’s Lyric Llama prompt — 80s. The lyric was: “Is this love that I'm feeling, Is this the love that I've been searching for, Is this love or am I dreaming. This must be love, 'Cause it's really got a hold on me, A hold on me.” Is This Love, Whitesnake (1987)

Irrational. That’s what it is. Entirely, utterly, irrevocably irrational. 

Hormones. Or loneliness. But certainly, most definitely, not  _ love. _

Right? 

Hermione analyzes every passing whim and feeling that flits through her mind. She scribbles every thought onto parchment even if she only plans to set it on fire later.

Attraction — of  _ course _ : he’s fit, perhaps a bit peaky at times, but hard with shadows where they’re most attractive. And those eyes. Merlin, green as vibrant as a forest after a thunderstorm.

No, she can’t focus on flowery similes. It’s too — Lavender. 

Closeness? Yes, certainly they’ve always been so, despite that she’s factual and organized and he’s all emotions and chaos. Nevertheless, he’s the yin to her yang. 

Intimacy — she blushes because she’s caught sight of him in a rather indecent situation with his pants half down. Of course she turned away immediately but she’d seen — she’d  _ seen _ — and such was the nature of their relationship for weeks on the hunt for Horcruxes. 

Intimate. Close. Attracted.

Surely, though, that doesn’t equate love. It’s the high octane adventure they’d shared, or the frenetic energy of winning a war. It’s because they’re best friends and not because she’s gone and confused the familiarity they share with something deeper. 

Would she die for Harry? Well, she’s already gone and done that and has the scars to prove it. 

Is she jealous of Harry’s other prospects? The thought gives her pause. No — not really. She loves Ginny like a sister and she’s so happy that she’s found someone to help her through all of the losses she’s suffered through the war. But —  _ but. _

When she watches Harry caress the side of her face, Hermione practically tilts her chin at just the right angle. If she closes her eyes and concentrated enough, she can feel the pads of his fingers run the line of her jaw from ear to chin. It sends her stomach rolling in a pleasant, excited sort of way. 

That’s not love. She’s just lonely. Things didn’t quite turn out how she and Ron expected. They’d kissed, a steamy bit of snogging that would have been enough for anyone else, but was not enough for them. One day, they’ll be able to make eye contact again. For now, they both turn a bit red and refuse to be alone in the same room together. 

Would it be the same with Harry? If she kissed him, would it ruin the lifelong friendship they’ve forged together? Would it take away all of the nights they kept each other awake, talking of the world before and the world after? 

Can she take that risk? 

“Hermione?” 

His voice cloaks her in warmth, security, and something familiar. She sets her quill aside and pulls a book over the piece of parchment she’s using to gather her thoughts. A genuine, ear-to-ear smile graces her face before she can temper it as she turns to greet him. 

“Hello, Harry.” She fidgets with the hem of her jumper and slides her hands along the rough material of her jeans. “I thought you were playing Quidditch with the Weasleys?”

“That was hours ago.” 

Harry walks further into the study and takes a seat across from her. He’s nervous, running his hand through the flyaway locks atop his head. He looks windswept — cheeks flushed, eyes bright, so bright that they practically glow in the natural dim light of Grimmauld Place. 

“You were supposed to meet us at The Burrow for tea.” 

She looks properly ashamed, not because he’s scolding her, but because she truly got lost in time and has no actual idea what the time is. She came into the study just after breakfast and now — well, there’s limited natural light in the room and no clock to warn her of the waning day. Hermione shrugs, attempt another smile, and watches the way he stares at her. From eyes to hands and back again, like he’s working out if she’s alright without having to ask. 

“I got a bit distracted,” she admits quietly and then allows her eyes to drift from him and scan the room as if that explains it. “How are they — Ron and Ginny?”

“Missed you, of course.” He tries to smile but she can see clearly how forced it is, though she won’t comment on it. He’s allowed to fake it — they all are. “Ginny has a letter of interest from the Harpies.”

“Oh,” is pulled from her lungs like an exaggerated breath. She leans forward with her arms resting against the tops of her thighs. “Is she interested in them, too?” 

Hermione tries so desperately to reel in her curiosity, to keep it from sounding like the idea excites her. She’s trying for genuine wonder, but she sees the way Harry’s eyes drift from the hands curled over her knees and rest unwaveringly on her stare.

The smile that quirks the edge of his lips gives her heart a stutter. 

“Yeah.” He seems sincere, happy for her. “She leaves tomorrow to tour their grounds. It all happened quickly. Molly’s a mess. Ron’s a jealous git.”

He says it so fondly that she can’t help but mirror his smile. 

“I imagine he is.” Hermione blinks away the intensity of Harry’s gaze. “Only another week until you start training with the aurors. That will take his mind off it.”

“Mm.” He dismisses it and his stare looks so far away now. “Are you still planning on taking a seventh year, then?”

“I’m not made to be an auror, Harry, we’ve discussed this.” 

The very idea sends her nerves through a tailspin. It’s noble work, certainly necessary work, but she needs to focus on something —  _ more.  _ And she’s just not sure yet what that is. 

“Will you forgive me for breaking up the trio, Harry?” She chews the side of her lip.

He stands then, hand quick to grasp onto her shoulder, his eyes level with hers and so, so close. She can taste the earth on his aura, can feel the way he flew through the wind. 

“Are you leaving me for good?” His eyes dance between hers, serious and with a shadow of worry tightening the corners.

“Of course not!” Indignant, how could he possibly think she’ll never return back to him? Grimmauld is as much her home now as it’s his. “Do you — should I plan to stay at Hogwarts for holidays?”

His thumb presses into the meat of her shoulder for only a split second, still long enough for her to feel it. 

“I’ll sell it if you try.” The words are sure, low, with a touch of sadness. “I don’t want this place to myself and besides, I’ve already asked Professor McGonagall to link the floo.”

“You—” she tries not to grin, but fails, “you want me to stay?”

She feels the breath he releases like a puff of air fanning her face. 

“I — yes.” Earnest and sharp, Harry is closer still. 

And that’s when she knows. This thing, the feeling that nestles like a beast in the pit of her stomach, the free falling, swooping bird that’s been living in her soul for over a year now — it’s  _ love _ .

It’s intimate. Close. Irrational.

But it’s there and by Merlin, she knows it and can name it and feels it at such a visceral level. Bollocks to her list and rationale.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Hermione closes the gap between their lips and squeezes her eyes shut. Moments pass, her mind is blank, and then he’s kissing her back like he loves her, too. 

It’s frenzied, then, like they can’t breathe and need each other like they need oxygen. His hands slither into her mess of curls and hers clutch onto the fabric over his chest. He pushes her back and she allows it until she’s leaning awkwardly backward over the desk with its fine wood digging into her flesh. There are noises between them that she’s never heard before, heady sounds that rile her insides and make her curl her fingers into his chest.

When they finally break apart, his fingers glide down to her hands and tangle together with them. He sits her up straight and rests his forehead against hers. 

“I wasn’t sure if you—”

She laughs, though it’s a single breath. “I do. Have, I think, for a while now.”

“I’m bloody blind.” His lips nip in for a quick peck. “I thought, maybe, you just wanted to be my friend.”

“I do,” she says, but adds quickly, “but more, too. I just didn’t realize it until now.”

“Didn’t realize what, exactly?” He pulls her to her feet and it’s as close as she’s ever been to Harry. His lips fall to her neck and his nose trails a line from her collarbone to her earlobe.

“That you—” she makes a noise that’s caught between a gasp of surprise and a moan, “you’ve really got a hold on me, Potter.”


End file.
